Great Pleasures
by hisui459
Summary: The interview... with Reno.


**Title:** Great Pleasures

**Author:** hisui459

**Rating:** NC-17

**Warnings:** Reno

**Notes:** Not sure where exactly this came from, but it was fun to write. I'm also not sure who the speaker actually is, but let's just assume it's someone who wants to do an article on Reno of the Turks.

**Characters:** Reno, unknown journalist

**Fandom:** FFVII

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Reno; I merely borrow him for my own perverted entertainment. I do however own the journalist. He is my puppet and shall do as I say. grin

**Word Count:** 473

**Summary: **A one-on-one interview. With Reno.

--

There are three great pleasures in life for Reno. Now, one might think there would be more than that, but, according to him, there are only three.

The first is his work.

When he said this, I raised my eyebrow in confusion, and he smirked at me and simply reiterated. His work is his first great pleasure. He explained in a way not even I could blame him for loving it; where else can he be as much of a bastard as he wants and get paid for it, kill people he doesn't like and get paid for it, torture and/or have sex with people for information and get paid for it, and then at the end of the year, get paid a nice bonus just for staying alive?

Smiling slightly despite myself at this point, I asked him to continue.

His second is smoking and drinking.

My smile growing wider, I pointed out that was two things. He disagreed.

He said that they must be taken together to be fully appreciated. I pointed out that he often took only one or the other. He frowned at me. I think he was growing tired of me calling his mistakes to attention. But no, as he explained, he merely knew I didn't understand. While, yes, he did take one or the other often, it was only when he couldn't have both for some reason or another. While on a job, he often (note: only _often_) couldn't afford to be distracted (read: drunk), so he just smoked. Far less often, could he be found drinking but not smoking. However, he recalls one mission he had to visit an important diplomat (he couldn't tell me who without killing me, he said, as it was a top secret mission. I think he is exaggerating. Maybe.) that loathed smoking, but had no problem with drinking. He continued on to say, however often he could be found only smoking or only drinking, doing only one was like only having half of himself. It was an incomplete feeling, like kissing a lover, but not being able to feel their lips. You can see that you are kissing them, you can hear them, taste them, smell them… but you can't feel them pressed against you. (His words. Not mine.)

Slightly aghast at his passionate eloquence, I asked him to continue with his third pleasure. I shouldn't have been surprised at his answer of sex. Somehow, after that last speech, I expected something a little more… well, a little more.

Obviously reading my slight disappointment, he laughed (he really does have a nice laugh, if you haven't heard it) and said that was the highest pleasure of all. Even others agreed with him on that. I couldn't refute that. By now, my cheeks were beginning to flush as I waiting for him to go into the lurid details of his sex life. Before I noticed, he had grabbed my chin and pulled my face close. (His eyes are very bright.) He didn't do anything, just looked at me. Watched my every reaction. I looked away first, not being to stand getting lost in those blue depths. No… I don't think blue is the right word for them. Indigo? Sapphire? Cerulean? Yeah—I mean, yes. That's it. Cerulean. He let me go after a second's eternity. I tried to stop the blush, but if his smirk was anything to go by, I didn't succeed. He let me leave after asking if I had enough information because he'd be glad to give me an example. I gathered my things quickly, blushing furiously, I'm ashamed to admit, while he watched. I'd probably be right to say he had laughter in his eyes, but I was scared to look into them again, lest he catch me. So I kept my head down and headed to the door. He walked calmly behind me, picking up anything I dropped and handing it back to me. As the door opened and I felt I was free—I could see my escape!—he caught me. Wrapping his arms around me tight, he tilted my head to face his and slid his lips over mine. It was hot; it was sultry; it was wet… it was everything I thought it would be. I responded before I could help myself. Far too soon, he pulled away. I opened my eyes (I closed them?) and panted lightly, looking up into cerulean. He had such an arrogant smirk on his face, like I had done everything he wanted me to, in spite of myself. I realized then that if he hadn't wrapped his arms around me, I would have dropped all my things. Again. Blushing again, (let's pretend I stopped) I pulled away. He let me go, but murmured something just loud enough for me to hear.

"Anytime you wanna chat again, you just let me know. I have a feeling there's plenty of things I could let you know about." Then he smirked again; I could hear it in his _voice_ even. "Give you… an education, of sorts."

I thanked him (it was the proper thing to do, after he gave me his time) and rushed to my car. I don't know how I got that thing started with my hands shaking the way they were. I don't remember how I got back to the Seventh Heaven. All I could think of were his eyes and the way his lips felt on mine. I walked into the building and sat down at the bar. The barkeep, Tifa, came over to me, a glass of something in hand.

"I see you're back." I had come in earlier asking about where I could find Reno.

She handed me the drink, and I tossed it back without tasting it. All I could taste was Reno—tobacco smoke, whiskey, and… something else. Something intangible.

She handed me another as she asked the question she everyone after their first time talking to Reno one on one.

"He's kinda like a walking sex hormone, isn't he?"

Unable to do much else, I nodded stupidly, my mind on other things. Like that thing Reno does with his tongue that makes you open your mouth before you can help yourself. (Oh, I didn't mention the tongue? Please excuse me. There was tongue.)

Tifa must have known exactly what was wrong with me because she kept the drinks coming (okay, bad choice of words) and eventually, the sensations dulled enough for me to function. I thanked her and walked out, started my car, and drove home. On the way, I resolved to never meet Reno on my own again.


End file.
